


Through the Looking Glass

by B_Kilroy



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dreamsharing, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, POV Alternating, Rape, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-11-13 14:37:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11187180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_Kilroy/pseuds/B_Kilroy
Summary: What Furiosa sees, Max dreams.  What Max sees, Furiosa dreams.  That's the way it's been since the youngest of the pair was born.  It was only a matter of time before they figured out that the person on the other side was real, and so was everything that happened to them.They saw everything that the other did - what mattered, anyways.  Birthdays, fights, friendships.  Furiosa's initiation.  Max's wedding.  Her being stolen away by Immortan Joe.  Him living a better life than she ever would.The dreams became a distraction.  For Furiosa, it was a welcome one - she could live vicariously through him, through what memories his subconscious would spare.  For Max, it was a nuisance, but it wasn't one he wished away.  It was one that toiled on his mind for months, stretching into years, until one day, Max pulled out a notebook from the bottom of his desk and began to sketch the Citadel.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shouts out to Owlship for the [prompt!](http://v8roadworrier.tumblr.com/post/158534008211/soulmate-au-where-you-dream-from-the-pov-of-your)

It has to have been months since Furiosa first saw Max begin to write about her - well, not about _her_ \- most of what he jotted down was trying to figure out where she was. He detailed landmarks and sun positioning, even though most of it went right over his head in terms of what he was capable of. The most helpful thing he's done was pull out a topography map and try to find the Citadel on it. It would have been an obvious find, three smart circles in the middle of an even plains, but it continued to elude him.

Some days, she can see that he's just woken up, fresh from seeing what she saw during the day, and he's jotting it down in a notebook. Some of it makes sense, but as time went on, Furiosa could tell Max was beginning to grab at straws that weren't there. The chicken scratch he's written down is worth as much as a blank piece of paper, if not less. If he keeps going on with this hunch, he could completely miss what he's looking for.

It's on a whim that she decides to sit down in a secluded corner of the vault and do her best to talk about what she's seen. Not all of it is fresh on her mind, but she can still name what she knows is absolutely wrong, and she can always point him in the right direction later. Of course, that's all provided that her message gets through. It's seldom that she receives any sort of complete scene; it's always vignettes and blinks and fractions of sentences. Furiosa does her best to project an importance onto what she's doing and keep it in mind; if she's to be of any help, he's going to need to hear it all.

It's naturally a surprise to Max when the first thing he sees is Furiosa facing a wall, and the first thing he hears is her addressing him. The first time she says you is almost enough to make him wake up. "I hope you can hear this in entirety, because what you've written down is not right at all..." She's broken the fourth wall, and he has no idea whether or not she's broken a rule - he expects for it to end any moment and have dreamless nights for the rest of his days. 

He tries his best to shake off the shock, because if this is her talking, then he needs to listen very carefully. She would know the area a damn lot better than him, would know everything about the Citadel that he could only assume by projecting the short stories into a bigger picture. When Max wakes up, he does his best to retain the knowledge and immediately heads to the study to fix his mistakes. If he's lucky, Jessie doesn't know - or at least doesn't care. He's sure that anyone who catches him trying to save a girl he's only seen in his dreams will label him a terminal psychotic and throw him out with the dregs. Whatever he can immediately remedy, he does, but eventually he has all that he can spread out on the desk and he's looking intently at it all. "Is this at all right? ...does it help? ...anything at all?"

There's a natural hitch in any communication they attempt to have. He knows that she'll only get his message once she goes to sleep, and he'll only get his response when he wakes up two days later. They'll have to make do, cramming any question they can think of into one day to make the conversation as dense as possible. 

He receives exactly what he expects during the night - nothing. At least, nothing relevant. It's whatever Furiosa has deemed worthy to commit to memory - some food they, the Wives, haven't had in a while, Rictus making a fool of himself, and Joe watching in turn, silently cementing the fact that he needs a new heir. There's a flash of her in the mirror as she considers cutting her hair, and that's another shock in and of itself - Max isn't sure he's ever seen her before.

That same night, Furiosa gets his message loud and clear, and she does her best to commit all he has to show to memory. After breakfast, she returns to the same corner of the Vault with what papers and maps she can gather, and it takes her an hour to either confirm or correct everything she can remember. She pauses when she thinks she's done reviewing his work, because there's something she saw in his notes that she almost forgot. Max has no idea who Immortan Joe is. "You know it's Joe Moore, right? Colonel Joe Moore?"

"That changes everything," Max acknowledges to her two nights later, and what follows is a flurry of him asking around, but no one at Fat Nancy's has a clue, and the Halls of Justice are just as empty of information. It's all of his mates, " _no- no- no- mate, we're just police._ " Furiosa can feel the hot flush in his face as he realizes he's going to get nowhere fast. 

He knows no one in the army, and he's damn sure that no army officer - even one that's gone AWOL and cares fuck-all about classification is going to offer any amount of information. It's not like you can go looking for military movements, especially when the papers have stopped running and the news is nothing but debates and public safety bullshit. "Hang in there?" Max offers her a final scene, groaning as soon as the words leave his mouth. They're of no help to her.

Furiosa knows he means well - it's not as though she can exactly blame Max for his failure. He could be a thousand miles away as well, even if he did know exactly where to go, and she's sure that any fine-tuned rescue party is unlikely to make the distance unscathed. Still, there's a genuine effort that Max puts into his work, and he wouldn't do it all just to leave her alone in the end. She does her best to emphasize the "thanks" she utters to herself as she faces the chiseled stone wall. It's the only thing that stands out to him when he sees her in his dreams. 

Furiosa doesn't expect much to come of her next dream. It's pretty much the same old stuff she sees every day. There's a glimpse of his wife and child, happy and well, a glance of the happy breakfast he eats in the morning (something she still can't help but envy). There's a flash of his own face as he cleans up in the bathroom, messing around with his cowlick in the mirror, and then there's a pause as he wonders if she's ever seen him before. The thought, apparently, is quickly dismissed, and suddenly he's in the pursuit vehicle, the Interceptor. She's seen it before, envied it, envied him for getting to drive it, but she always soaked in every single second of super-charged fury it had to offer.

" _Max?_ " She can hear his transceiver crackle, and she guesses it's Goose.

"Go ahead."

" _We are 100 percent SNAFUed._ "

"You okay, Goose?" Furiosa could practically feel herself hum in her sleep, somewhat proud of knowing it was him. Hell, she should know - she's seen so much of the man that she almost knows him as well as she knows Max.

" _Nothing a year in the tropics won't fix,_ " Goose replies with an audible grin. The tropics. Her thoughts immediately turn nostalgic, towards the Green Place, but they break as a possibility comes to mind. What if Goose is thinking of the Green Place, too?

"Much damage?" 

" _You should see the damage, Bronze!_ " A new voice crackles to life over the transceiver. It's harsh and evil, nothing like the regular belligerents from inside the department. Furiosa can feel Max tense up as he listens to the man continue to preach into the microphone. " _Metal damage?_ Brain _damage? You listening, Bronze? I am the_ Nightrider!"

There's a very sudden realization that there's been no stops in the sequence - Max is recalling everything, and it's with that that she knows that whatever happened to him yesterday, she was about to see it all.


	2. Chapter 2

It's almost uncomfortable for her to watch how calm and cool he is about it all. Everything he does is purposeful and meticulous - he's treating it as though it's an average day on the job, almost as though he wasn't about to go head-on with a cop-killer that's already incapacitated his best friend. Then again, maybe he does know what he's doing. Maybe he's the only one with his head on straight.

She easily reconsiders that opinion when he stops his pursuit vehicle in the middle of the road to counter the Nightrider, and then guns it at him. He's going too fast for what he's doing to make any sense - _oh my God he's going to ram him_ \- and the two cars get close enough to see the whites in the psychotic's eyes, so close that she thinks she's about to see him die, and in her sleep, she holds her breath.

The two turn at the last minute - thankfully in opposite directions, and Max is quick to about-face and continue the mad chase down the stretch of highway. It doesn't take long for him to get right up to the bumper of the hijacked V8, so close that he can hardly even see what's in front of him. She doesn't know what he'll do - surely he should try to spin it out if he's fast enough to already catch up with them - but perhaps before even Max could figure it out, they crest a hill and there's a man flagging them down - " _STOP!_ ", she hears him yell, and Max is quick enough to slam on the brakes, but Nightrider's stuck on the gas. She watches through him as the car barrels down the straightaway, swerving around the crashed guzz hauler and into an even bigger pile-up just beyond, and the whole lot of it explodes into the sky. He leaves the car and starts to make his way to the crash until he freezes in place. No one in there could have made it. 

The scene breaks down again as business becomes business and the day fades into a semblance of normalcy. Max checks the man with the flag, finds that all the drivers had been out of the cars before Nightrider came along and finished it off. The sun's moved in the sky by the time a transport and a meat truck's arrived to pick up the stranded motorists and the bodies of the carjackers, and then it's just blips of him driving, popping into headquarters to report, and driving again. The last flash is of him in a towel leaning back into Jessie, watching the news detail the incident. He waves off the questions Jessie has about the man and persuades her to turn in.

\- - -

When Furiosa wakes up, she makes it a point to ask about Goose and the tropics. There's a good chance he really meant some islands in the Pacific, but it's worth a shot. The Green Place never had men - at least, she never saw men that hadn't walked for miles to come to their village. Maybe he was one of the lost sons, one of the fathers that had been sent off and somehow made his way back to civilization. If Goose knew, and if he could point it out on a map, then all he'd need to do is look a day's travel West.

She also makes it a point not to get too excited. So much of their work hinges on pure chance and luck. If her hopes get too high, then the vault can become even more of a prison than it is, if it were even possible. Furiosa needs to maintain realism, even if it borders on pessimism. 

Very little else is offered specifically to Max. Furiosa doesn't have any more questions, and from what she can tell, he doesn't have any more information. The Nightrider remains on her mind though, and she can't help but wonder who Toecutter is, the man that he said he answered to, the man who asked if he saw him. She grimaces as she draws comparisons between the statement and the desire by so many of the War Boys to be witnessed. Something tells her that they're going to hear more of Toecutter.

\- - -

The next night, she watches as Max offers more glimpses into his life. "The Goose wants me there early. You know the Goose!" His wife signing at him from the top of the stairs - " _crazy about you,_ " pulling into the square at the Halls of Justice, tossing an apple to Goose as he comes around with his wrapped leg propped up on the handebars. It's dark as they walk down into the garage, and the mechanic and Goose can't help but laugh as they lead Max along to a car that's been worked on and tuned with a very specific purpose.

It's sleek, black, and absolutely beautiful. She can see it in the engine compartment - " _the last of the V8s!_ " - and it's something else to remind her of the Citadel, and to see that the V8 isn't just a cult. There's a damn good reason why people are looking for them. "She's meanness set to music and the bitch is born to run!" The platinum blond finishes before he waves Max out of the trance, and he finally steps forward only to turn it off, and he turns. 

"When do we go for a ride?" It was apparently the perfect question for Max to ask as it set off the men who laugh even harder and he joins in. The sight is hard to take in; it reminds her of War Boys crowing over their own creations, and it forces her to wonder if the boys in the MFP are so different from those in the Citadel. The question is whether that's supposed to be good or not.

The answer, anyways, is not now - there's still some work to be done. Max and Goose leave the mechanic to his work, and the day becomes a blur again. It's their day off from the three-day angel patrol, but their day still passes by in a flash - they're driving around town, heading into Fat Nancy's for lunch, and suddenly it's home. Before Furiosa knows it, she's up, and she can only wait for a response.

\- - -

Max gets her message loud and clear during the night, and he decides to pop the question to Goose when he picks him up at the Halls of Justice for the day's patrol. His luck remains uneasy; the answer is some island in Polynesia that Max had never heard of. Goose laughs at his reaction, and admits that he had no plans to go anywhere any time soon. "Think you've got yourself a tag-along until I can ride the bike proper again." It's another blow to the plot to help Furiosa, but he remains in high spirits. Goose is never unwelcome company.

Max and Furiosa find it easy to fall back into not talking to each other. There's no news or breakthroughs from either of them, and neither particularly care to offer commentary on what's happening to the other. Any sort of communication at all is still weird to maintain, and they mutually - silently - decide that the delay between sending and receiving any sort of message is too large for much of it to be worth it at all.

She still watches intently when Max is drawn into another road battle late into the night, one that he handles again with expert precision. She watches through him as tow trucks and ambulances and civilians stack up on the roadway trying to clean up the scene. Max's boss, Fifi Macaffee eventually shows up on the scene to look it over, and more importantly, to deliver news.

"That Code 3 you ran down a few days ago... the Nightrider, yeah. Got a problem. His friends. Word is they're out to get you." _Toecutter._ She knows.

"Scoot jockeys?"

"Yeah, nomad trash."

"Well, I'll add it to my threat collection," he jokes with his boss, and the two are fast to dismiss the topic and clear the scene. 

\- - -

It isn't hard at all to see that he doesn't take the threat seriously, and that's something that worries her. That scene is close to the last that she sees of Max's day, so it's incredibly easy to wake up with it fresh on her mind, and she does her best to issue him a stern warning. 

"Don't for a second underestimate them. Treat them all like they're the worst thing you've ever faced, because once you get it in your head that they're a joke, they'll have that over you until it's too late. They're _out to get you._ Act like it. Look where they've got me," she says as she ducks her head out of her chamber to look out into the Vault, at the foot-thick metal plate sealing them in, and towards the Biodome that provides her with the obvious sign that they're stuck hundreds of feet above the dirt. "Anything's possible.

"Watch yourself, Max Rockatansky. And watch your family."

\- - -

It's a very sobering message to receive, and it's decidedly timely. Goose is riding with Max until his leg heals up, talking to some roadies when Max gets the message from dispatch. "We have an incident at Wee Jerusalem. Nomad bikers, bulk trouble." He swallows hard and urges his partner along before taking off. Dispatch has no more information beyond that - _typical._ Something's happened but they don't know what happened.

It isn't long before they spot someone running off - it's a man without pants tearing his way through the wheatgrass. They stop and try to get his attention - they _do_ , but calling him a turkey doesn't exactly scream helpful - and he keeps on going. It's a waste to go after him now; collecting him later is always possible. Their attention turns to the carnage further down the road.

It _can't_ be a crash. There's no point of impact. There's no other car. From what he can see, it's been torn to bits by hand. There's two more people they find - a woman, nude and leashed, and another man, who they can only guess is the perpetrator of the carnage - or at least who's left of the lot that did it. Max collects the man and Goose manages to get the woman in the rear of the Interceptor, and suddenly their detainee is screaming about the Nightrider, and the pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place.

They call for backup and a cleanup crew - no way they're carrying all three of them in the same vehicle. It's Big Bopper with the on-site response, March Hare goes out to the township - they cuff the man easily enough and take off again to headquarters, but it becomes a difficult task for Max and Goose to chase after whoever ran off into the field. What works in the end is the woman calling for him through the loudspeaker, though the pair of them are still shaky when they're reunited and on their way back to civilization. Maybe it's because they can see their totaled car trailing behind them.

The suspect's already behind bars by the time they're back at the Halls of Justice. They do their best to clean up the couple, nothing more they can offer but a hot shower and a change of clothes before they get the story and send them on their way. Max stops them on their way out of the door, and he hesitates. "Will you appear at his trial?" 

He can tell immediately that they don't like the idea of it at all. It pains them to think about it, to relive the horror and potentially face retribution for what they say. Max hates it, but understands. They're always on the scene once the crime's already happened; the lot of the MFP are spread too thin over its jurisdiction. Instead of finding the couple alive but violated, they might find them dead instead. 

"We can protect you," he offers, but he's not sure if that's the truth. If they were to stay within a stone's throw of the Halls of Justice, Max would have no doubt they'd stay safe until the trouble blew over. They came from out by New Jerusalem, though, a good hour away, and there was no telling who they could assign to the territory and when. The couple doesn't speak. "It'll be on the 18th, 10 AM at the courthouse," Max tells them, and the information is acknowledged only with a curt nod before they leave, gone off to find their way home.

The news from Sarse isn't very good. There were at least twenty in the gang, the lot of them present to collect the body of the Nightrider. The railway agent made it a point to seek out the responding officers and tell them about a man who called himself Toecutter, which was something _very_ interesting to learn. There wasn't much damage, apparently - only broken windows and shaken shop-owners, though a man was taken back into town with a road rash earned from being dragged behind a motorcycle. 

The consensus among the officers is decisive - the gang had to have done it all, from the bullshit in the town to the rape on the highway. The case wasn't quite open and shut, but after finding someone at the scene of the crime, they have their reasons to believe it'll be an easy conviction.

Despite how sure they were of the outcome, Max did his best to heed Furiosa's warning and temper his own expectations. He tried to do the same to Goose, who had taken to regularly harassing the suspect. While he couldn't sway his partner's opinion of the man, he said enough to assure Goose that he'd get his in due time.

When the morning of the 18th comes around, Goose is back to throwing coins at the guy, who they've got shackled and packed into a too-small suit to prepare him for court. "Throw another and you're going to clean the whole floor," Max warns him without any sort of authority behind his words. Goose sniffs and pours the change back into a desk drawer.

" _IT WOULD BE NICE IF IT WERE CLEANED ANYWAYS,_ " Charlie pipes up through his electric larynx. 

"Well you got working arms and legs, yeah?" Goose shakes his still-bound knee in the other man's direction, and he simply ducks his head back into the office to avoid any more conversation.

"Alright, sit tight, Fifi's going to be here with the public defenders any time soon." Max leaves the three men alone and walks out into the courtyard where Roop iw waiting. It's coming on 11 AM - they had been given some time to allow for witnesses to show. With any luck, they'll have them.

It isn't long before two cars pull into the lot - Fifi's ahead with the unmarked patrol vehicle, and a civilian car follows behind him. The captain's quick to keep Roop around, and the lot of them wait for the public defenders to get ready. They don't offer a good impression - they're too clean, too tailored, unlikely to have any real idea of what happens out there on the road. There's a hint of a smile on their faces,as Fifi finally leads them towards the building. He's quick to snatch Max close. "You'll have to sit on the Goose."

"Why?"

"No contest."

"Damn." It wasn't unexpected, but it for sure was the last thing any of them wanted. Without any witnesses, their man in there is going to get off scot free, and there's no telling what he'll do next. The gears in his mind grind into motion as he tries to think of ways to get Goose the hell out of there and let whatever needs to happen happen. It's quick and he's still working it out when he stalls Fifi and the rest of them from getting inside. One of the lawyers is quick to make a snide remark, but it goes in one ear and out the other. "Fifi, wait until Goose is outside. Roop, come with me and follow along, but stick around when we're gone."

Fifi opens his mouth to object, but relents. If it gets the Goose out of his hair, it'll be an easier day. He offers a quick apology to the lawyers and lets Max and Roop through. Max is a good boy, always plays by the rules. Any trouble he causes ought to be worth it.

Max runs into the Halls, and he begins to shout. " _GOOSE!_ " Behind him, Roop joins in. "GOOSE! You gotta come quick!" He's glad to see that he's caught his partner's attention. Max practically collides with Goose, and he does his best to sloppily drag him forward. "Roop can watch him, we gotta go!"

"What are you going on about, man?" Goose keeps pace, but Max can tell that he's still skeptical - he needs a reason.

"It's Jessie!" 

That's all he needs for Goose to cooperate fully, even propelling himself faster and further than Max despite his leg. The two blow past Fifi and the lawyers, and Max can barely catch a thankful look in his eyes. It's into the Interceptor they go, and they lay down rubber as they take off out of the parking lot. 

"What's wrong with her?"

"Neighbor pulled up with Sprog, said Jessie's been hurt and she's getting taken to the hospital, sped off before I could ask anything."

" _Shit!_ " is all Goose can conjure in response, and it's at this point that Max thinks he has him. He keeps up the panicked appearance and indeed heads off to the hospital, but a few blocks away from the building - _minutes away_ from the Halls of Justice, he comes clean.

"Jessie isn't hurt. Neighbor doesn't have Sprog." Goose turns to face him, wild-eyed. "All likeliness, they're safe at home." His expression turns from surprise, to disgust, to anger, but he fails to settle on any single emotion, because he has no idea why Max lied to him.

"What do you mean? What's the big fuckin' deal, lying about your wife being hurt like that? Lying to your mate?"

Max feels ashamed - he deserves it, no doubt, but he hopes it's justified. "The charges were dropped against the road runner. No contest."

"No contest? _NO CONTEST?_ " Max can hardly listen to Goose as he begins to shout and argue - and it goes on for a rather long stretch of time - but he does his best to get a word in once it's quiet for a second.

"Fifi told me to sit on you, so I'm sitting on you. Taking you out of the Halls wasn't exactly orthodox but from judging from your reaction, it's well justified. Don't need you taking that anger out on anything - _anyone_ else." Goose continues to fume, but he does his best to calm down. It's only after a final sigh that he leans back in the seat and accepts it. "Imagine if you throttled him. Never mind what the PDs have to say about it, think about what he _could_ do. He could make you a target. I already am."

Goose turns to him again, still angered as though he's being spoken to like a child, but he still presents as concerned. "What do you mean, you're a target?"

"I _killed the Nightrider._ They were in Wee Jerusalem to get his coffin. They have a damn good reason to come looking for me. Figured I'd give them as little reason to come after you as possible. Don't need two marked for death." 

That was enough to cool Goose off completely, and he finally fully accepted what Max had done. He understood. "Still pissed you used Jessie and Solly. That's not good stuff." 

"Sorry." Max knows it would kill Goose as much as it'd kill him to hear of anything happening to his wife and son. Goose was the whole reason they were together in the first place, and he's practically an uncle to Sprog. It was a completely undue shock, and it's one that Max thinks he'll feel the residual of for a while. "Up for dinner with the family?"

"You know I'm always game for a free meal," Goose half-cocks a smile, and that's enough for Max. He circles around the block and finally aims the Interceptor back in the direction of the Halls of Justice. Thankfully, the scag's gone, so there's no way Goose could cause trouble even if he wanted to. Fifi offers a pat on the back but says nothing, because there's nothing to say. The heroes have lost this one. It's back to business, and the day is a blur until they're at the house by the sea where talk of work is explicitly prohibited at the dinner table.

It's after dinner when Max and Goose find themselves alone on the porch. Jessie's inside, tucking Sprog in for bed. The two offer their goodbyes, but Max stops him. There's something he's been mulling over ever since he rode Goose out from the Halls of Justice. "Goose, what say you deactivate Gosling One until this all blows over? Come along with the Road Runner?"

He's absolutely floored by the suggestion, and looks as though Max has once again said the most heinous thing he could possibly conjure. "What're you on about?"

"Listen, just until... until that gang's out of the territory. Whether they're dead or found someplace else." Max can tell Goose is still anxious about the whole idea. "There's power in numbers, and I'm not saying that -"

"Nah, Maxie, I get it," Goose grins slyly and shakes his shoulder. "You need Big Jim Goose to keep you safe, eh? Well don't worry, mate, there's no one else I'd rather hitch a ride with. We'll see what Fifi can do about it - doubt he'll put up much of a fuss about it."

Max can't help but smile, not having had to sway Goose that much to get him on board. There comes with it the worry that perhaps his partner doesn't take it as seriously as he is, but he's not sure if he needs to. Maybe _he's_ the one who's blowing it all out of proportion. It's something he decides not to argue about - it's better to be safe than sorry.

\- - -

Hundreds of miles away, Furiosa can't help but be angry right alongside Max and Goose. The word of policemen should be more than enough to convict the scum. Still, she'd be one to know that people get things they don't deserve, both the innocent and the guilty. She does her best to brush it off because she can't do a damn thing about it. 

In the end, she's happy that Max took her advice, even more so that he took it and shared it with someone who desperately needed to hear the same. There's a positive feeling that she shaped the outcome of the day for the better; if her and Max had never talked, there was no telling just what Goose would have done to the man, and what in turn might have happened to him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: graphic description of rape/non-con - skip to the end notes for a proper summary.**

_Max's decision to take Goose out and away from Johnny the Boy as they release him is wise, and it pays off in unknown dividends. Had he not, Goose would have gotten his hands on him, would have done his best to give the Boy what he deserved. Johnny would go free anyways, and what he suffered would only give him reason to hold it against the Bronze - Goose in particular - and he would have done something big._

_Instead, he's left not quite counting his lucky stars, but he figures he's well off enough in the end to just move on. The gang isn't unfamiliar with brushing up against the Bronze. While Nightrider's death is something to be mourned and avenged, he knows where his place is. It's right next in line, and he's up for a promotion. Maybe Johnny can't be_ too _mad about it all..._

\- - -

Furiosa watches as the days lose the observable importance that they had before. Max and Goose remain vigilant, always on the watch for the nomad bikers on the horizon. It's no secret - at least to her - that they've been carrying more ammo for their weapons, Max's shotgun and Goose's revolver. If there's a war coming to them, then they're more than ready to take it on.

In the end, it seems as though the war never comes. None of them can't say for sure that it's over, but they eventually reach a point where they can relax and go about their work as they have been. No more news comes out of Wee Jerusalem; the dispatcher hardly talks about groups any more, only referring to one or two vehicles at a time. It could be that the Nightrider and the rest of his gang was just a quick flash in the pan. It wouldn't exactly be the first time, and it absolutely would not be the last.

About a month passes by before they start to consider it over. They're not watching their six, they don't have their hands wandering to the grips of their guns, and they're not worrying about what's waiting for them out there. It comes as a surprise to Max (and Furiosa as well) when Goose asks to stay on board the Road Runner. Fifi doesn't consider it a bad idea when it's brought up with him, considering how many times he's never at his radio to catch his deployment, and Max honestly doesn't mind. There's no better way to spend the lousy angel patrols than with a good friend.

With much less to worry about, but much less time alone to himself in the Interceptor, Max turns back ever so gently to trying to figure out where Furiosa is and how to help her. Colonel Joe Moore is a name that he strains to listen for every day, but he never hears anything of him. It's his maps and notes that he turns back to, and the conversation between Max and Furiosa resumes. 

Unfortunately, they begin to reach a point where they're unsure that there's much more to discuss. It's as though he's looked through every grid in the map, looked through every atlas and pored through every single scrap of information he's collected. Unless he's blind, he's not seeing it anywhere. Max sighs as he looks deep into the center of the Outback, looks at all the parts of the map where it's nothing but a thin line pockmarked with towns whose names he hadn't even heard of before. Maybe the mapmakers fudged it. Who wants to be the nut who has to go through every mile of the dirt, dust, and sand and mark it all out? No one sane.

The conversation properly dries out. Nothing happens to one of them that the other doesn't see. There's no small talk they can make out of it. "How's your day been? What's going on? What's wrong?" They already know. While they know what they see in their dreams can't at all compare to talking to one another, it's still an incredibly intimate process, and it's incredibly honest. 

There's no hiding anything from the other, and there's hardly anything that they haven't seen of each other, no matter how private. Some things are unavoidable like stomach illness and bowel issues. Others, not so much; Max eventually found him celibate after having no idea and no desire to find out if Furiosa was okay with watching him make love to his wife. Furiosa kept from her own pleasure as well, much more self-conscious about it due to where she was, and what she was being used for. There was a natural trust and bond with Max, but he was a man. She didn't need someone else deriving undue pleasure from her.

There was Joe to do that.

**_\--warning properly begins here--_ **

It was her Turn again. The last child she had given him was a stillbirth - _Joe hated those the most_ \- but it had been her first time that she had been pregnant by him. In some sick show of sympathy, the Organic Mechanic had allowed Furiosa to recover and had her skip her turn. She still hated it. It would make her stay longer, and it would only hurt more to have to bear witness to Joe do his best to impregnate the other women.

He knew their cycles, knew when they were most fertile. For the most part, all of the Wives were in sync, which forced him to choose one to focus on each month. It was when he thought they were ovulating - and many times, they _were_ \- that he would try to make a son. They had to endure him for days as he violated them and could only hope that they'd bleed in another couple of weeks.

It hadn't been hard for her to tell that it was her Turn again. The other Wives had already been raped (and two of them were pregnant). It was only a matter of time until the Vault door opened, and it was Joe alone who entered, and he called out her name.

She knows by this point not to fight; he'll just fuck her harder and fuck her every day for the rest of the cycle, whether she conceives or not. The best thing she can do is lay down, close her eyes, and take it, and be thankful that Joe lets the Wives stay there to comfort her. One of them, the youngest and newest, doesn't stick around. Furiosa understands.

Nothing can prepare her for him, no amount of meditation or lubricant or acceptance that it would happen. It's instinct for her hips to rise up and away when she feels Joe prodding her entrance, but he lets it slide and pretends that she's just teasing him. His hands fall heavy on her hips - "Not getting away from _me_ " - and in one swift stroke he plants himself firmly inside her.

She can't help but groan - it's painful, stretching her beyond what she can handle and pressing too hard into her cervix. Furiosa can feel it all. She can feel how misshapen it is, can feel the lumps that she hopes is cancer and means the end of him. As he begins to move, she holds the girls' hands tighter, and can only hope that it's over soon.

It isn't. Joe takes his time, whether that be of his own will or because his body is beginning to fail him. Doesn't stop him from doing his best to release inside of her. The pain doesn't get any better as time gets on; he keeps hitting her cervix, keeps doing her best to fit his full length inside her. It's worse when she can hear him, calls her things that he must think are sweet for what he's doing to her. Worse when she can feel him begin to collapse down on her, and she can feel his sweat begin to fall onto her body and mingle with her own.

Worse when she knows Max can't help but watch.

It's never easy for him. He knows his discomfort can't even begin to compare to hers - he can wake up from the nightmare. She has to live it. Still, it's as though he's there, and in the darkness he can almost feel it. It's completely alien, feels completely wrong, and there's no convincing him that it isn't happening to him as well. 

Max has to wake up. He can't take it anymore, can't stand to feel what she feels, hear it, see it, _smell it._ Damn what else there is for him to see, there is no way he's going to sit through this and see how long it'll last. He does his best to wake up, even though he's never done so in the middle of the dream before. What _do_ people do to wake up? He tries to open his eyes, tries to feel his own body against Jessie, tries his best to just _move_. 

It's not long before he begins to feel something. He assumes that he's pulling himself in the right direction, so he puts the full effort that he can into the action, and it's easy to tell it's working. Max can't hear Joe pant and moan anymore, can't feel his body shake anymore - he's growing numb to the scene. When there's nothing else for him to sense, and he's in a complete and utter void, he makes the final push and anticipates the welcome sight of the sun in his bedroom window.

Something goes wrong, though. Max doesn't wake up in his bedroom. He isn't with his wife, face in her hair, hands around her stomach. Instead, his face is ducked down into a cup of coffee, and his hands are wrapped tight around it to secure its warmth. It's enough of a shock to have him sit straight up and look around - _where am I_? 

He's in Fat Nancy's. And Furiosa is sitting right in front of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Max and Goose stick together, riding as partners in the Interceptor out of fear that Toecutter's gang will do their best to take the both of them out. While enough time passes for them to relax, and there is no news of the group being within their territory since the release of Johnny the Boy, Goose decides to stay with Max as a more permanent arrangement. When Max can finally relax, he does his best to focus again on trying to find Furiosa and the Citadel, but runs dry again, assuming that maybe it's somewhere in the vast plains of dirt and sand that no reasonable man would want to try mark out. As a consequence, Max and Furiosa stop talking.
> 
> Furiosa's turn to be bred by Immortan Joe comes soon enough. Everything that she feels is channeled into Max, who feels it all the same as she does. When he does his best to wake from the dream, he instead breaks into another world that lurks beneath the surface of their conscious experiences - he ends up in Fat Nancy's, sitting right across from Furiosa.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Another warning for descriptions/mentions of non-con. Will tag internally.** Scroll to the end notes for a proper summary.

Neither of them can move. They're too shocked to do anything but look at each other. It's easy to tell _this_ isn't real, because Furiosa has never been anywhere near here, and Max can see the details in the room and even the people around them change as his mind tries to remember and replicate how they look. 

They're perfectly clear to each other, though. What they present to each other is how they see themselves. Furiosa isn't in the thin white fabric that Joe keeps the Wives wrapped in; instead, she's covered in leather and dark patterned cotton and scarves. The Vuvalini looked like that. He's still in his own leathers from the MFP. Who else is he supposed to be?

Max's dream - Furiosa's reality - weighs heavy on the pair. Neither of them can drive it out of their heads. His instinct is to reach out and comfort her, but he's afraid to touch her - he needs her permission first. Hell, even if he gets it, he might reach out and have his hand go right through her. Her instinct is much the same - to seek comfort from him if he'll offer it, but she has the same worry that he does, and so they sit stock-still, clutching their coffee cups that they'll never drink from.

One of them opens their mouth to speak first, but neither of them are sure who - the world begins to break. Any sound that they make is muffled as though they're underwater, and suddenly it feels as though they _are_. It all goes black - Max can swear he feels Furiosa's mind butting up against his own, and suddenly her presence is gone, and it's a struggle to escape - where? Up. Out. They swim even though there's no guarantee they're heading _up,_ even though neither can feel their arms and neither is sure that they make any progress, but eventually they surface -

And Max wakes with a cold sweat in his bedroom next to his wife, and he is alright. Furiosa wakes in the Wives' sleeping chamber, and she can feel the aches of pain begin to pulse again in her hips. Her body tries to repair the damage that Joe did the day previous, but she knows it won't help at all. He's coming again today.

Their shared dreamscape keeps their thoughts occupied for much of the morning. It's something they haven't done in all of their days - it's new, and they're not sure whether to be excited or afraid. For Furiosa, it's another escape from what's going to happen later. For Max, it's something to study. He can easily scavenge the time to do it. The patrols he's been assigned are on long straight roads, and he's almost ashamed to admit it, but he can let Goose go on and on without putting a word into the conversation himself.

He knows that whatever he did to try to wake up was the key to getting back into the dreamscape, but he means not to marvel at that as though it's an incredible discovery. What truly matters is perfecting it and finding a way to get there as fast as possible. If Max can do that as soon as the vision of Furiosa's world begins, then that's insurance that he doesn't see It, doesn't feel It, doesn't experience It. 

It feels wrong, though. Should he manage to jump right into the dreamscape (where hopefully she's waiting), he's going to deprive himself of everything she experiences. She'll be properly alone if that happens, and they've _never_ been alone, whether they wanted to be or not. Without the vision, he loses the ability to sympathize. Loses the ability to understand. Leaves her to suffer.

_Just tonight,_ he promises the both of them. _Just tonight, just to see what happens._ Max figures that it would be hard to forget how, now that he's actually done it. From here on out, it's a matter of practice. It's also a matter of research - what is the purpose of the dreamscape? What can they do? How much time do they have?

They could have _hours._ Suddenly, Max isn't sure if it's a smart idea. He still doesn't know what he could say to her. No small talk, no discussion of something he hasn't already seen, no being able to comfort her because he has no idea how to. What are they going to do for however long so it's not just sitting there looking at each other, doing nothing?

He doesn't know, so he swallows the growing lump in his throat, and accepts that he'll wait it out as long as he can.

It's hard for him to function normally when Furiosa's being actively breeded. It keeps Max from wanting to sleep. He stays up and piddles around the porch and eyes the coffee machine because he knows what's coming and he can't stop it. By the time Jessie's caught onto it, though, it's over, and he's back to normal. It's not regular enough for her to recognize it, and he hopes she never does.

In the end, he knows it's better not to fight it. He's delaying the inevitable. Max can't stay up the whole night without nodding off once, maybe only for thirty seconds. That's all it takes. It's in those thirty seconds that everything happens, and the physical jolt that he gets from it all is even worse. The longer and sooner he can sleep, the better.

The night comes easily enough. He considers drinking - maybe it'll help - but he doesn't know what will happen as a result. It's probably best that he's clean of anything before he goes to sleep. Max forces himself to simply go through the motions. Eat. Shower. Play with Sprog. Talk with Jessie. Lay down in bed. Close your eyes. Go to sleep.

He can tell that last night's on her mind, but can't tell what she thinks of it. In all likeliness, she doesn't expect it to happen again. From what he can tell, Furiosa puts more effort into preparing herself for what the afternoon will bring her. There's flashes of her staring down into her food, staring up from her prone position in bed, holding hands with the Wife closest to her. Joe arrives before either of them are ready.

**_\--warning properly begins here--_ **

It's the same as last night. He gets the same sounds, the same smells, the same dysmorphic stretching of flesh down where there should be no hole at all, the punch of Joe's thrusts against his - her - their stomach. Before long, Max wonders why he decided this was a good idea, and he starts to float before it can get to him.

The sky's dark when the two of them find themselves back at Fat Nancy's. He can tell that she's still shocked to be here, and he understands. There's a pang of shame, dragging her here without any hint of it happening. Well - if she had picked up on his thoughts at all, she might have known, but trying to focus over Goose would not have been an easy feat. 

There's also the guilt that he has for pulling out of it. It feels wrong for him to completely usurp what the two of them shared, no matter how bad or good. Max doesn't think she knows - there's no telling what the other sees at night, but if he keeps it up, she's going to find out. "Had to pull myself out of it," he admits first of all to leaving her alone in that moment. "Couldn't..."

She's quick to stop him. "I don't blame you." Furiosa doesn't see the point in him trying to go through with it when no one up there in the Vault wants to. "You know what happens. You don't need to feel it, too." There are multiple things that both of them could argue they didn't want to experience through the other, but it's different now since he can do _this._ He gets to choose what he sees. He can disconnect. She stays quiet, though; while this phenomenon had gone on since they could remember, neither of them had exactly had a choice in the first place anyways.

He nods at what she has to say and can breathe easy with that weight taken of his shoulders. It's not as though he intends to do this every night - just days like these. "I'm not going to do this every night. Just..." She knows and motions that she understands quickly just to avoid talking about it, so they put themselves past that, and they're silent again.

Furiosa dips her pinky finger into the cup of coffee to measure the liquid's warmth. It seems alright enough; she knows it's supposed to be hot. She tastes it and wrinkles her nose at how bitter it is. She knows Max puts a lot of sugar in his, but she's not up to giving it a second try. Tea's more her kind of thing.

"Is this okay?" Max asks once the two of them sitting there doing nothing finally starts to grate at him. He questions himself again - why even be here in the dreamscape if they don't do anything? There's still no conversation to be had between them that could result in them knowing anything new between them. Sitting here and being here with her while he was himself was nice. It brought another dynamic to their relationship, but he believed the novelty would quickly wear off. He wasn't sure if this would be all there was, but for now, he needs to know if it's okay at all.

"Yes." Her answer is firm, provided almost instantly. This place is an escape. It's not the Vault. She's not in any danger here, and it doesn't hurt to stay. Admittedly, there's not much to it, but it's somewhere else, and that's almost all she needs. The quiet, then, becomes pleasant. 

Max doesn't know how long they sit there, doesn't know how much time they're afforded. They could surface at any moment. He doesn't have anything stuck up his sleeve as a final goodbye, and he still can't conjure anything he could say to comfort her that's well though-out and is more than what he's heard so many people say to victims that he knows doesn't help. 

His eyes wander down to her fidgeting hands, and he decides, very gingerly, to take one of them. There's the same worry from last night that he'll reach out and touch nothing, that she'll evaporate and lose her form, but he knows they're just dreaming. No harm done. 

Furiosa watches as Max moves to touch her, and she lets him. She trusts him to do no harm; nothing he's ever done has made her fear the day they'd meet, if it ever came. There's even a certain impatience that she has with how slow he's moving - he's not sure - and so she reaches out to meet him half-way.

It's a shock for both of them - all of what Max refused to see is experienced in a single instant. The rest of her session with Joe slams into him like a gutpunch. The hours that they decided were useless are transmitted in that fraction of a second, and they pull away from the sensation feeling as though they lived each other's day as well as their own. It sends them reeling, and before they can make sense or do anything about it, they're surfacing again, and they're back to their own realities.

He decides, when night comes, that he isn't going to wait to float.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Furiosa and Max are drawn out of the dreamscape before either can make a move. It leaves the both of them curious, though only Max can initiate. He's tempted to try it again to avoid experiencing Furiosa's breeding, though he's uncomfortable with the feeling that he could be leaving her alone after always being there with her. He tries to steel himself, but he fails and draws them back into the dreamscape. There, he apologizes for leaving her alone in the moment, and she accepts it, not blaming him for wanting to avoid it. Max also ensures that bring her here is okay, but beyond that, he's not sure what to do. In the end, they decide to reach out for each other. The moment they touch, they transmit _everything_ from the day - it's something neither of them expected, and it's enough to force them to surface. It's a revelation for the both of them, and Max gives himself the go-ahead to try to float as soon as he starts to dream.
> 
> **float** \- basically shorthand for describing Max abandoning the vision and drawing them both into the dreamscape
> 
> **surface** \- shorthand for describing the process of them leaving the dreamscape and properly waking up


	5. Chapter 5

True to himself - and hopefully still with Furiosa's blessing - he floats the next night as soon as he sees the stone walls of her room. It lands them back in Fat Nancy's, and while Max still has his coffee, Furiosa's found herself with a cup of tea. "Huh," she lets out an amused sound and looks up at Max with tired eyes. "Special brew?"

"All they had on the menu," he mumbles in response, and they fall back into their drinks.

They share a curiosity of knowing what would happen should they touch again. Neither of them anticipated it last night, and he wasn't sure it was something they could steel themselves against or completely cancel altogether. He figures it's like getting shocked after getting rubbed the wrong way in a sweatshirt - they're not in tune with each other until they have that contact. Sitting through each other's days would ease the process and gradually equalize them. Here they were, though, without either seeing much beyond the blink of an eye. There's no telling what the full Monty would earn them.

It was in no uncertain terms usurping the process the two had observed for years. Max expects a punishment for it - not quite to die, but for something drastic to change about the dreamscape. Something between them might change. Of course, there's the possibility things will go on as usual. Perhaps their only penalty would be that shock. Hell, maybe it was something they could hammer down and either change into something the both of them could handle, or discard altogether if it was something neither of them cared for. 

Even though Max didn't want at all to experience what Furiosa was going through, and he was probably right in his guess that nothing else happened, he felt as though he should take the shock anyways. It might become too easy for them to break away, and _this,_ the whole process they've been engaged in may unravel and set them on their different paths to never see a hint of the other again. The prospect scares Max more than he'll let on.

He's half-set on reaching out and seeing if she'll do the same. Get it over with. Maybe it won't be so bad if it's all at once, _all_ of it, though it's not as though they'd get any less. If the two were to touch - _is that honestly what my goal is?_ \- they'd need to work their way onto the same wavelength.

He hesitates. "What happened?"

Furiosa lets out a heavy sigh. She doesn't even want to put it into words; she's tempted to just touch him and get it over with. Her hand almost makes it to his, but she pulls it back. There's a reason they're here in the first place. " _It_ happened."

He knows it did. "Anything else?"

"What do you mean, anything else?"

He's not even sure if he knows what he means. "Um..." There's nothing he can conjure that he knows she regularly partakes in that's particularly fun, especially when she's being bred. It's these days that she shuts down and waits for better times.

"You know it's these days that I just… you know?"

"Yeah." 

The two are quiet again and tend to their drinks. He enjoys his coffee easily. It's something he's been having at least twice a week for the past he-doesn't-know-how-many months. Max knows how he likes it, knows how it tastes, and it's something that he guesses manifests with little trouble at all. Furiosa's tea is another story. He's not a fan of tea; what's in her cup is what he thinks is tea, and in turn that's what she drinks. It tastes how he remembers; each sip gives her a different flavor that Max is still trying to pinpoint. She gives up before the cup is hardly half-empty.

"How did your day go?" she asks him, already knowing it would be better than her own. 

"Went alright, I guess. Nothing out on the road but someone's broken down car. Just another day." He knows it's nothing special, and it's so easy for him to completely glaze it all over as one day becomes the next, but he knows Furiosa would come along in a heartbeat. It's something he takes for granted despite what he sees through her every night. 

The two of them can tell that their words aren't going to be the same as seeing what the other sees. Details will be fudged, mis-remembered, left out given how innocuous they may be. Some will be spared for the sake of the other, or simply not allowing themselves to talk about it. They can try their best, but it won't be the same as dream-sharing. 

"Do you want to try?" Furiosa's words shake him back into the moment. Her hand is stretched out towards him, lying halfway across the table. For how little Max has seen of her, it's easy to read her face and body like a book. He knows how it feels to sit like that, elbow propping her tired head up, knee bouncing impatiently under the table. She wants to try and he doesn't blame her. 

He hesitates once more to reach across the table and take her hand, and pauses before the two can meet. “We’re gonna get the shock.” When she nods, understanding the consequences, Max speaks again. “Might wake up.” 

That’s what catches her and makes her dump her head onto the table. She’s almost sick to her stomach just sitting there. Some part of her wants to reach out that short distance anyways and take his hand whether he wants to or not, but then he’ll feel _it_. “Don’t let go.” Furiosa suggests it as though that’ll save them, but what does he know? What do _either_ of them know of how this place works? Very little. 

Max props his elbow on the table and opens his hand to her. It needs to be firm, can’t be glancing. The kick will make them tense, and as long as someone’s got a hold of someone, they’re going to be together. Furiosa mirrors him, and the pair agree to go on three. “One, two -” 

Their hands meet above the table. The kick takes them both before the words could finish coming out of his mouth. He gets what he expected - the rape, the tired comfort of the wives, the rest of the gray muted day. She gets what she wished she could have - a partner, the house by the sea, the freedom to drive for miles and miles, and for a second she almost resents the fact they came down here. Watching it all unfold as it happened would have been much better, but being down here on their own terms is still many times better than waking up.

That microsecond leaves their hands slick with sweat, but they’re still touching, each hand tight around the other. They half-expect to wake up; their bodies pull at them like tethers and the diner begins to lose its detail, but their minds stay anchored, and the dreamscape settles. They mirror each other, reaching under their right hands to grab onto the other’s left, and they pull back the former to wipe it dry.

When they’ve finally caught their breath and calmed down, the both of them have no idea what to do with themselves. Where do they go from here? And what do they say? They decide they’re content with staying put and keeping silent; examining the other person’s touch is enough of an activity to keep themselves busy.

His hands are muscled and callused, much like the Mothers. There had always been a pride about their calluses; it meant you did your work. You were experienced. You were capable. She envies how genuine, how earned the sensation is, and wonders if she’ll ever earn her own. Joe liked soft hands, and so allowed them nothing that would mar them. She had taken to rubbing her hands on the hewn walls of the Vault until her palms were raw and the stone was nearly polished, but it’s nowhere near the real thing. In the end, she could at least keep it as an act of defiance.

Max’s observation comes from deeper inside. It’s a blossoming, warming feeling in his chest that he suspects Furiosa feels as well, and it honestly frightens him. The sensation is pleasant and painfully unique. It feels like something he should get from his wife, his _partner_. Receiving it from Furiosa makes his mind race and latch on to the fact that they’ve been this way since they were born - for all they knew, a fluke, unless everyone else is as good as them as hiding it. There’s no way there’s a greater meaning behind their pairing - is there?

Together, at least, there is one thing they are satisfied with. It’s the validation of their hypothesis that _this_ would work. It’s securing that mechanic of the dreamscape as conquered for now, and it gives them something to work with.

They both end up moving their free arm towards each other as though to secure another anchor. Their heads rest on the table. “Is this it?” Max ends up asking when it becomes almost unbearable to maintain the vacancy of mind and senses. “Is this all there is?”

The questions almost pain Furiosa, because she has no answer to them besides _yes._ She has no idea what else they could do. All she knows is that it’s better than being awake. “I don’t want to go back,” Furiosa offers as a response. She knows that Max understands why, and wants to ask anyway, so she continues. “It’s all tainted there. The girls. The food. The books. The music. It all serves a purpose, and that purpose is _him._ He can’t reach me down here.” 

Max understands completely. It’s a living nightmare up there for her. She doesn’t live on her own terms. There’s no work, no accomplishment, no relaxation, no purpose except to give birth to a child that belongs to a man she hates with all her being. Down here? It’s better, even if it’s nothing. It’s a pause. If there’s more to the dreamscape that they can change, then they’ll find out in due time. 

He wants to get up, leave the restaurant, find the Interceptor and see if they can drive. That desire’s pushed back by an equally strong fear that the glass facade only offers a false projection. He almost expects to open the door and come face to face with the void or worse, wake up. With no guarantee that won’t happen, Max stays secured in his seat facing Furiosa, and gives her all the time in the world.

It’s not long before it’s hard for Furiosa to stay up. There’s nothing for her to do, but she doesn’t blame Max. They have no idea what they’re doing down here. They don’t know the rules - or maybe they haven’t made them yet. It’s nothing they can do anything about, not tonight. With nothing else to act as a stimulant or otherwise catch her attention, she finds it easy to nod off. Her head truly falls into the crook of her arm, her eyes close, and before either of them can realize it, Fat Nancy’s falls apart. Their bodies pull back at them and tear them out of the dreamscape until they float higher,

And they’re awake. Max in his house by the sea, Furiosa in the Vault locked away a thousand miles from anywhere that matters. They both know what’s going to happen. He does his best to forget about it, and she does her best to keep it together until night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst, [here's a tumblr post](http://brian-kilroy.tumblr.com/post/164579551897/so-heres-the-mechanics-for-the-soulmate-au-so) explaining how this soulmate AU functions; it could be refined in the future but for now this is the mechanics I'm running with.


End file.
